


Crown and Seal

by invisible_doorknob



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 12:13:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5927962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisible_doorknob/pseuds/invisible_doorknob
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Marcus and Esca go north in search of Esca's kin, Marcus finds something he wasn't expecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crown and Seal

**Author's Note:**

> I like this movie, but it's so _male_. There's no speaking part for a woman at all. I wanted to know more about this one.

Five years after the return of the Eagle, Marcus and Esca ride north again. 

They aren’t headed as far as the Wall; neither of them intend to cross that barrier ever again.But word has filtered down through travellers and traders that there are a few Brigantes who survived Rome’s massacre, making a living up near Eboracum, and Esca wants to find them. 

“The farm’s doing well,” he says to Marcus one night over supper.“And we just finished planting.If I go soon, I can be back before it’s time to harvest.” 

Esca glances up, gaze a little reserved in the evening’s firelight.“I know that leaves you short for the summer, but we have enough coin to hire another pair of hands, and--”  

“Two pairs, to make up for your work,” Marcus interrupts, and leans across the table to lay one of his own hands on Esca’s.“But you’re right, we’ve more than enough to hire help.” 

Esca’s face relaxes, and he turns his hand over to fit his palm against Marcus’.Marcus grins at him. 

“In fact,” he goes on, “we can probably get our neighbour to the west to lend us Segorix and those two freedmen of his.The three of them should be able to watch over the place until we get back.”At Esca’s blink, he laughs out loud.“Surely you don’t plan on haring off on an adventure without me!” 

Esca sputters, which Marcus counts as a victory, but finally rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching.“Should I even bother arguing?” 

“No,” Marcus says firmly, and so it’s decided. 

They leave on a sweet spring morning, which since it is Britain, is sweet while raining gently, but their cloaks are thick and Marcus has to admit it is good to be on the road again.He loves farming, the rhythm and the peacefulness of it, the security of having a place of their own; but still his blood stirs at the prospect of riding out again with Esca and facing the world. 

He has to admit, later, that it isn’t that much of an adventure, at least compared to earlier times--the journey is as easy as could be expected, the weather is mostly warm, and thanks to the generosity of Rome and the way the farm has prospered, they can afford to stay in lodgings when they come across them, and eat well along the way. 

But given the alternative, Marcus certainly isn’t going to complain.He remembers the _last_ journey well enough, thank you. 

Esca is enjoying himself too, though as they draw closer to Eboracum he becomes quieter and quieter.Once, Marcus might have tried to draw him out, concerned, but now he knows to let his friend be.Esca doesn’t know who will be found at the end of this hunt, nor how they will react to him and his history--and companion--and it’s best to let him brood in peace.If he wants to talk, he knows Marcus is ready to listen. 

They take a room at Eboracum, and wash away the road-dust, and as Esca pulls on a clean tunic Marcus can see him drawing a deep breath.“You wish to go alone,” he says, before Esca could speak. 

Esca coughs.“I--yes,” he says.“I do not know what I will find, and--” 

Marcus shakes his head fondly.“And it will be easier without a Roman giant trailing behind you.I understand.But if you’re not back by sunset I will come looking for you!” 

Esca’s grin is brief, but definite.“Yes, _domine_ ,” he jests dryly, shoving a sharp elbow in Marcus’ direction and dodging the return swat.“I’ll be back for supper.” 

“See that you are.”Marcus watches him leave, then goes to change his own clothes and go out again.Half the day yet remains; he will find something to occupy his time. 

Eboracum is much the same as the last time he’d been through; a little larger, perhaps.There is still the same bustling industry of a town that serves a military post, with taverns and blacksmiths and tanners aplenty--Marcus does his best to avoid the latter--and all that comes with it, sellers of meat and produce, children running about, the endless hum of voices in conversation, argument, bargaining. 

It feels odd to see the soldiers moving through the crowd and to know he is no longer one of their number, but the pang is slight.Five years have let his loss fade; the sting is still there, but muted.And as Marcus strolls past a seller of chickens, he reflects again that given the choice, he would not give up what he has now for the future he’d once imagined. 

He buys himself a handful of strawberries to snack on and keeps walking, stretching muscles that are weary with days in the saddle.His leg twinges on occasion, but it is as healed as it would ever be, and experience has taught him that exercise is the best way to keep it limber. 

The goods-sellers give way to small dwellings, built more in the British fashion than the Roman, and most of the faces Marcus sees are British as well.But Eboracum is a crossroads of cultures, and Roman traders and farmers are almost as common as Roman soldiers; no one spares him more than a passing glance. 

Until someone does. 

Marcus isn’t unused to stares from women; proper Roman girls might keep their eyes averted, but the Britons aren’t so restrained.But this girl is scarcely more than a child, perhaps fourteen, and her look is puzzlement, not flirtation.Caught by her stare, Marcus looks back, but she is no one he knew-- 

\--And she turns and is gone, hurrying off down the street.Marcus shrugs, and goes on. _Perhaps I remind her of someone._  

He has run out of town to explore and is making his way back to the inn, wondering what Esca has found, when a hand touches his arm. 

It is a boy--no, a young man, a Briton, his gaze as intense as the girl’s.He is a stranger too, but before Marcus can object the Briton speaks.“Marcus Flavius Aquila?” 

Marcus starts.The man’s accent is thick, and different from Esca’s, but the words are clear.“I am he.” 

The man nods.“Suetra would see you.” 

Marcus blinks.“Who is Suetra?”The name is unfamiliar. 

“She…”The man pauses, clearly searching for the Latin.“She is of the north.She wishes to see you.” 

_Of the north._ That could mean several things, and Marcus hesitates for a second.The wife of one of his father’s Legionaries, perhaps?Surely she cannot not be one of the Seal People. 

“Very well,” he finds himself saying.The young man does not seem to be lying, and Marcus has his dagger on his belt. _And...I am curious._  

The young man leads him down a side street to one of the small dwellings, pushing the door open and ducking inside.Marcus has to duck lower--nothing about the building is large--and blinks rapidly in the dimness within. 

As his eyes adjust, they find no threat.The young man crosses the room to crouch by a chair near the hearth; in the chair is an old woman, grey hair pulled back and her back straight.Nearby sits the girl Marcus saw earlier, her fingers busy with a spindle but her gaze fixed on Marcus. 

But it is the old woman who holds his attention, because her he does know.Hers was not a face he’d ever expected to see again, and the last time he’d seen her she had been thin, haggard, worn; not well-fed and queenly. 

He had never known her name, but oh yes, he has cause to remember her. 

Slowly, Marcus crosses the little room and sinks to his knees before her. _“Matre,”_ he says. 

Her smile is empty of teeth, and full of pleasure; she reaches out one gnarled hand to touch his cheek, and speaks.Marcus doesn’t understand a word of it--he never had--but behind him the girl’s voice translates, her Latin clearer than the young man’s.“It is good to see you so well.” 

His throat tightens, just a little.“I never thought to see you again,” he says, and as the girl translates his words back memories flood him. 

_The shove propelled him into the low slave hut, and he landed hard on his side, the fresh bruises just more to add to those he’d been collecting the last few days.His leg was on fire and his heart was in despair; Esca had betrayed him and all hands were against him.There was no mercy in this harsh northern land._

_Marcus pushed himself upright.The last blow had dizzied him and his eyes could scarcely focus in the darkness of the hut, but he could make out a ring of faces, dirty and starved and wary.There was only a tiny fire, but beyond it sat an old woman, bone-thin.She waited until he was looking at her, and gestured him closer._

_She fed him, doctored his cuts as best she could, and found him a scrap of blanket to keep out a little of the cold, but the thing that meant the most was her gentle smile.As time and his captivity went on, Marcus saw how she cared for the slave-children, and was humbled to realise she considered him one of their number--humbled, and grateful._

_Hers was the first and only kindness he found in the Seal village, the only softness in those long, hard weeks, until Esca woke him with a touch._

_And then they were gone, running south, with no time even to thank her--_

She--Suetra--laughs, and pats his cheek, speaking again.“Of course not,” the girl translates.“It is strange that we should meet again.Do you stay for a while, and tell me why the warriors never returned.” 

Marcus smiles.“And you must tell me how you came to be here.” 

It takes a long time.He is given a seat and some food, as a guest, and introduced to Deorix and Irin; and now that he knows, Marcus can see traces of the children they’d been in their faces.There is one more child, Irin tells him in her careful Latin, and two adults, but they are all out working just then. 

But when they are settled again, and Irin is facing them both with her spindle still turning, Marcus tells his tale, keeping it simple to spare Irin’s tongue and vocabulary.Suetra listens closely, nodding from time to time; her expression grows satisfied when Marcus spoke of the battle in the river and how it ended, and he can only agree. 

When he is finished, Irin pauses for a swallow of the tisane Deorix has served them all.Suetra smiles and says something else, and Irin’s own smile flashes bright for a moment. 

“She says I should tell you the story myself,” she says, turning to Marcus. 

“If you’re not too tired,” he says, smiling back; it is as good to see her fed and healthy as it was to see Suetra so.His own misery had consumed him in the Seal People’s settlement, but he has never enjoyed the sight of a child suffering. 

Deorix laughs from where his crouch has become a sprawl.“Irin is never too tired to talk.” 

Irin makes a face at him and takes another drink, then begins.Her tale is shorter than Marcus’, but he finds it interesting.When the village’s hunters had all gone in pursuit of Esca and Marcus, and the days had stretched out to two and then three without their return, Suetra had seized the opportunity she had never thought to see come.Taking three of the children and the two other slaves who had the courage to try, she had gathered what supplies she could, and they’d stolen one of the coracles and paddled away in the night. 

“The old men could not leave the village unprotected to chase us,” Irin explains.“And Suetra’s tribe was a northerly one; she thought we might be able to reach their territory before our strength gave out.” 

And so they had; Suetra’s tribe was gone, wiped out in an earlier battle long after she had been taken by the Seal People, but those who had claimed their territory had taken in the refugees. 

“Suetra feared that the Seal People might come to find us after all, until the news spread that their chief and all their young men had perished,” Irin goes on.“Many say that it was the eagle-god of Rome who brought punishment upon them, for stealing it from its soldiers.” 

Marcus blows out a breath, not willing to argue the point.Besides, he tells himself, he cannot say that Mars or Mithras had _not_ taken exception to the eagle’s capture.Certainly they had helped him regain it. 

“The chief _and_ his heirs, all gone,” Deorix says with dark satisfaction.“The Seal People’s heart was torn from them.” 

Marcus bites his tongue on explaining that neither he nor Esca had lifted a hand against the chief’s grandson.He’d been ready enough to kill the boy earlier, after all, though the memory still brings a flush of shame, and remembering the little body limp in the cold water is worse. _Let it be.It is the past, and cannot be mended._

“How did you come to be here?” Marcus asks instead.“You’ve come a long way.” 

Irin shrugs.“The tribe that took us in was kind,” she says.“But Suetra wanted to be further from those who had enslaved us, and when we first fled we took as many seal hides as we could carry.They are rare in the south, and with those to trade we made our way beyond the wall and settled here.It is a good life, this freedom.” 

She smiles again, and Marcus agrees.Just a few weeks of slavery had been almost enough to break his spirit; freedom must be unimaginably sweet to one who had never known it before. 

He stays to talk with them until evening is coming on, hearing stories of their flight and their journey south, and trading a few tales of how he and Esca had come to the Seal People and the true reason behind their theft of the eagle.Marcus is surprised at how he enjoys it; but finally he has to tear himself away, refusing with thanks an invitation to the evening meal. 

“Esca will miss me,” he says apologetically.“And I am eager to hear news of his kin.” 

Suetra chuckles.“If you can, bring him to visit us,” she says through Irin.“I would like to see him again, this man who fooled the whole of the Seal People.And one so loyal, too.” 

“More than I deserved,” Marcus notes wryly, and shifts from his seat to kneel before her once more.“As was your kindness.” 

Her hand rests on his head, and he knows it for a blessing.“Did it not bring us both good things?” she points out, her smile gentle, and he can only agree. 

As he walks back to the inn in the twilight, Marcus has to marvel at the strangeness of the day.He could not say that he had wondered much what had become of the slaves of the Seal People; nothing of those weeks had been pleasant to remember, and he had put the memories aside.And certainly there was nothing he could have done for them at the time. 

But he is pleased to know that they are happy now, and free. _And it is good to be able to give Suetra my thanks._

He slows his pace a little, reflecting.Suetra’s care had kept him from deep harm, and in turn he had done her a service without knowing it.The loss of his father had brought Marcus to Britain, and then he had saved Esca’s life on impulse. 

The Eagle had cost lives, but had also saved them. 

_Who knows what hand the gods truly had in it all?_ Evil and good had both come of the Eagle’s loss and its restoration, and Marcus cannot say whether one outweighed the other. _Perhaps this was all meant to be, and the Eagle the key to moving us to our proper places._  

The thought of them all as gaming pieces is not a comfortable one--but then, Marcus thinks wryly, few dealings with the gods are ever so. 

As the inn comes into view, he sees a familiar figure waiting outside its door, and as Esca waves impatiently Marcus smiles wide.For all his dreams and aspirations, he knows that he would never trade away the life he has now for the one he once thought to gain. _Gods or no gods, this is what I want._

Marcus waves back, and walks faster. 

~end~


End file.
